


When All Else Fails

by Cloudnine101



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crack, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, True Love, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5368409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"Did you know," John hisses, "that your brother has </em>transformed into a dragon<em>?"</em></p><p> </p><p>aka </p><p> </p><p>Sherlock has a secret, John is nonplussed, and True Love saves the day - or something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All Else Fails

When John wakes up, it's the middle of the night, and Sherlock Holmes is now, apparently, a dragon. 

It's not a _dragon-ish_ dragon. John wouldn't go that far. But it's long and grey and scaly, and has curled around the couch. Its wings take up half the living room. It's framed by the moonlight.

"Sherlock?" John says (yells), "What - what - "

The dragon cracks one papery eyelid open, and looks him up and down.

"Blargh," it says, and shuts its eyes. And that's that.

John staggers backwards. He trips over the lamp, and lands in a heap on the floor. He drops his gun, too. (It's best to be prepared. After all, he _was_ a soldier.)

 

.

 

"Did you know," John hisses, "that your brother has _transformed into a dragon_?"

Mycroft arches one eyebrow, and takes a sip of his tea. "I wouldn't say _transformed_ , Doctor Watson."

"What would you say, then? Magically shifted? Altered by the powers of the fairies? _Mutated_?"

Placing his cup down, Mycroft smiles. It's not a friendly smile. It has far too many teeth. "He's always been that way," he says, as if to clarify. "I would've thought he'd have told you, by now."

John leans forward. "Wait. So - you're meaning to tell me that for the past two years, my flat mate has been..."

"A shapeshifter. Yes."

"A dragon. With claws. And teeth. And _fangs_."

"Oh, you don't have to worry. He won't use them on you." Mycroft takes another gulp, frowning. "I, however, am going to be staying as far away as possible."

"Great," John says. "Guess it's up to me, then."

Mycroft doesn't disagree. As John turns to leave, he is stopped by Anthea, gazing blanldy over the top of her tablet. 

"John," Anthea says, " _can_ he breathe fire?" 

 

.

 

John finally finds Molly in the lab, half-heartedly peering at a corpse. John doesn't stop to think about why.

"Sherlock's a dragon," John says.

"I know. Greg texted me."

"Greg?" John runs a hand down his face, and sighs. "Mycroft. Bloody, _bloody_ Mycroft."

"Sometimes, these things can surface in response to an...extreme emotional reaction."' Molly pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. John resists the urge to shake her. "For example, happiness, sadness, fear - "

"I understand emotions, Molly! Just - tell me how to fix him. Please." John tries to stop the desperation creeping into his tones, and, judging from Molly's expression, fails.

"Or a moment of understanding. A realisation. Can you think of anything...?"

"I - err - " John shakes his head. "Nope."

"If you reverse the emotional response - sort things out - he should go back to normal." Molly sets whatever implement she's holding down, and begins to zip up the body-bag. "Hopefully."

"How am I supposed to know what he was feeling? All he can do is growl!"

Molly shrugs. "I don't know," she murmurs, "but Sherlock probably would."

John is halfway out of the door before he remembers to thank her.

 

.

 

"Alright, Sherlock. What were you thinking? You were walking out - here - and I was sitting on he sofa - there - and you were...what were you doing?"

"Blargh."

"Right. Solving a case. Which case? Was it important?"

"Blargh."

"Well, that's one theory out. What's next?" John sits down, and puts his head in his hands. Sherlock glowers at him from across the room. "Bloody lot of use you are."

" _Blargh_."

 

.

 

Somehow, Sherlock ends up back on the sofa. John's standing in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make a cup of tea and dragon-sit at the same time.

Making a hissing sound, Sherlock jerks his head away from the telly, and says, "Blargh." Apparently, night-time documentaries still don't agree with him.

"You know, as your - doctor, I would've thought I'd be able to work this out. I've spent so much time - here. Solving." John huffs out a breath. Sherlock doesn't seem to care. "We - we will - fix this, Sherlock. I promise."

For a while, they're quiet. Somebody's screeching away on the screen.

"If you can hear me, just - do something, okay?" Sherlock doesn't respond. John shakes his head. "Of course not."

"Blargh," Sherlock mutters. 

 

.

 

"Have you tried telling him you love him?" Greg asks the next morning, head down, hands in his pockets. "That might do the trick."

John, already struggling to keep up, almost falls over his own feet. "What? No!" The lift doors open slowly, giving John a chance to recover himself. 

"Why not? He could've worked it out. Tell him, turn him back. Piece of cake." Greg turns to face him, a funny kind of grimace playing over his face. "Listen, John, I'm going to be honest with you, now. Think you can handle it?" 

"Alright," John says, numbly. "Go ahead."

"You're a pair of idiots," Greg says. "And he - _likes_ you. See what I'm getting at?" 

"What?"

Greg shudders. "I'm not saying it again!" he snaps. "Now do me a favour and clear off. Technically, you're not even allowed to be in here."

Peering around the office, John is suddenly hit by the amount of eyes following him. "Nobody ever minds when it's Sherlock," he says. On the other side of the desk, Donovan pointedly snorts. 

Greg places a hand on John's shoulder, and squeezes tight. "Everybody minds when it's Sherlock." He sighs. "Get out of here. _Go_."

John does.

 

.

 

John spends the night pacing. Sherlock lies beside him, content to make little humming sounds from time to time. John stops. His heartbeat rings in his ears.

"Alright," John breathes. "I'm just - I - this kind of thing is difficult for me. The first time I tried to ask a girl out, I accidentally set her up with my cousin. The point is - God, I love you, Sherlock. I love the way you can't wake up until ten am, and can't go to bed until twelve. I love the way you make me run around the city with you. I love - I even love your stupid coat, and that thing - even Molly hates it, and everybody knows she's head over heels for you. Even you couldn't deny that. But you must have known it about me, too."

"Blargh," Sherlock says, very decidedly still a dragon.

John feels his shoulders shrug. "Oh," he says. Then he turns around and shuts the door, and goes upstairs to bed.

 

.

 

John is woken by the sound of banging, and footsteps. Hope spikes through his chest before he can stop it; John takes the stairs two at a time, and there he is, standing in the centre of the carpet, hair mussed and tousled.

"Sherlock," John says, and Sherlock spins to face him, covered by his dressing gown and pyjama bottoms and slippers. His top, strangely enough, seems nowhere to be found.

" _John_."

Before John can think about saying anything else, Sherlock strides towards him, draws him close, and kisses him full on the mouth. When they break apart, John blinks, warmth pulsing through him.

"Right," he says. Sherlock sneers, eyes sparkling. His hair falls down over his face. "Fine."

John kisses him again. Sherlock's lips twitch upwards against his mouth.

 

.

 

The next morning, John sends Greg the biggest bunch of flowers he can find. Greg texts his thanks, along with a bunch of _rather childish insults_ (according to Sherlock), which John ignores. It's for the best, really. 


End file.
